


The Boushh Gambit

by Zoe_Dameron



Series: Love in Fascist Space [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canto Bight, Classism, Minor Violence, Mission Fic, Negotiations, Paige Tico (referenced), Power Play, Snap Wexley (referenced), Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12954525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Dameron/pseuds/Zoe_Dameron
Summary: Poe and Jess head to Canto Bight to negotiate a trade deal with a mysterious benefactor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telekinetic_hedgehog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinetic_hedgehog/gifts).



> Inspired by the awesome fic [Promise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8300092/chapters/19009333), and our shared interest in the Poe/Phasma dynamic. <3

“– _Kriffing –_ why do I have to wear this again, Dameron? I look like a… like an over-stuffed bird. Covered in sparkles. And the hair? This is a mean joke.”

Poe tries his very best not to laugh as Jess continues, pulling at her crotch and waddling clumsily forward in her modest heels. “Pava, first of all, you look very nice. But don’t try to pretend like you haven’t gotten dressed up before. I know you ha –“

“Well, I didn’t like it,” she interrupts.

“You also volunteered for this, you know. Tico-1 is waiting in the shuttle just out of orbit with Finn and Snap. I can comm up to see if she’d want to take over if you’re so miserable.”

“No. No, it’s _fine_. I’ll live.” She rolls her shoulders and sets her posture, both hands folded neatly and white knuckled over the sparkling red clutch to match her dress. “Gotta love Canto Bight’s obsession with the old ways, don’t you?”

Poe nods sympathetically and takes her arm in his.

“Not to mention, some of these beings don’t even have the limited genders that we do, so what do they have to wear to –“

“ _Jess_.”

She sighs deeply and Poe can practically feel her tightening her jaw. He gives her time to straighten herself out and waits for her to be ready. With a confirming nod from his partner, he places his hand over her arm and they round themselves out of the dark alley to join the other visitors slowly filtering into the colossal golden doors of _Canto Casino._

The great room is overly opulent, if not excessively so, with gambling tables ringed with guests covered head to toe in the finest jewels and furs.

Dark Alderaanian spruce paneling borders the glowing arches lining the length of the room, branching off into long twists of hallways filled with even more of the galaxy’s most lavish upper-crust, there to gamble away enormous, inconsequential sums of money.

Poe bristles at the sight of it, of so few owning so much, while the people who are actually working to ensure they and every other planet aren’t randomly blown out of the sky have to take time away from the fight to come here and negotiate trade deals for the paltry funds they need to stay afloat.   

“What’s our contact’s name, again?”

Poe points to a few open seats at the bar in the middle of the busy room and they head over and she orders their drinks. “Didn’t give a name,” he says, scanning the area. “Said she’s tall. Short hair. Will be wearing purple.”

“Chiss? Human?  

“Human.”

“So I guess we hang out and pretend like we belong until we see her?” Jess suggests, trying to figure out how to correctly ingest the smoking liquid pouring down the sides of her glass.

“Mm,” he grunts and looks down at his feet, trying his best to ignore the murmuring and dismissive glances the wealthier patrons in their immediate vicinity are sending their way. Poe shifts uncomfortably in his suit, a gift from his dad however many years back, suddenly feeling very small and out of place. There’s an grease stain on his left palm and he sets down his drink to try rubbing it away. He knows it’s futile, and the effort frustrates him almost as much as wanting the stain gone; the marks of hard work shouldn’t be something to be _ashamed_ of. It’s a strange sensation to feel like such a clear outsider, to lose control over how he’s perceived. He looks down at the unchanged stain and resents it for embarrassing him in front of all of these people he doesn’t know.

Sensing his uncharacteristic discomfort, Jess reaches over and gently grabs his hand to still it. “Whatsa matter, Commander? Leave your confidence on the speeder?”

“S’nothing.”

She pokes him in the side, unwilling to let him dismiss the issue.

“Starting to feel very out of place here, is all.”

“Ha, you should,” she laughs, adjusting herself in her tight dress again. “These people are weird and slimy and directionless. We can fancy ourselves up, and Force love the General for doing her best to make us look like we’re not elbow-deep in dirty engine parts every day, but there’s no hiding that we’re do-ers, not… whatever is going on in this place.” She waves dismissively to the room in between inhales of her drink. “Besides, you look very handsome in that suit. You should’ve seen the way Finn’s eyes lit up when he saw you in it. I thought he was going to faint. Anyway, I’m pretending we’re _new_ money.”

“New money? Like those Cereans we ran into on Harloff Minor? With the –?” he asks, exaggeratedly scowling and holding onto his midsection like it’s spilling over the front of him.

“Ha!” Jess practically shouts, clapping her hands together. “ _Yes!_ Do you remember the way the bossy short one walked? Arms out, barking orders at everyone like he owned the place?”

The two puff out their chests with their hands on their hips, affecting the same clumsy accent. “ _Tut tut tut, do you know who my father is?_ ” they both repeat, doing their best not to fall apart into laughter.

 _Ah, there it is_ , he thinks. He grabs his glass and raises it to his partner, smile spread wide across his face, sour looks from other patrons miles behind him. “Cheers, Pava. Happy to finally be on another mission with you.” 

“Cheers, Commander. And don’t pretend like you didn’t hear what I said about Finn, you moof,” she says, not even bothering to pretend like she doesn’t see the blush rising in his cheeks.

He doesn’t bother trying to hide it.

They’re still nursing their first drink when Poe finally spots their contact, draped in a deep purple sleeveless gown with a long slit up the left side. She’s imposingly tall, with a steely gaze and elegantly styled short, blonde hair. Something about the way she carries herself reminds him of royalty. Not quite like The General, but still sophisticated and polished around the edges. He catches her eyes and subtly raises two fingers to his chest, their agreed-upon signal, and she purses her lips into a tight smile as she heads over.

“Commander Dameron, I presume?” she asks, and the way she speaks reminds him of Rey.

He reaches forward to shake her hand and she corrects him by lifting her hand towards him for him to take, which he does, gently placing a kiss to the back of it. To Jess she bows slightly, and Jess repeats the gesture.  

Poe clears his throat, ready to get down to business. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms…?”

“Marijke,” she responds, her voice smooth and other-worldly. She doesn’t offer a second name, and Poe doesn’t ask her for one. Anonymity is usually a high priority for their allies.

“Ms. Marijke, yes. Thank you coming, and for your support of the Resistance’s cause. This is my partner, Captain Pava.”

Marijke leans forward and studies Jess, who doesn’t know whether to feel exposed or flattered. “Ah yes, she’s quite lovely,” she offers, “I had assumed she was your spouse. You do make a dashing couple.”

Jess gapes at her, incredulous. “ _Us?_ ”

“ _Pava_.”

Their contact smiles, her eyes brightening. “Well, you never know where love decides to reveal itself. I never pictured myself ending up with my husband, but here we are. Or rather, here I am. He’s at one of these tables, somewhere, probably losing a fortune.”

“I hope to meet him,” Poe replies. “Your offer of at least a Coruscant-cycle’s worth of fuel and supplies is more than generous.”

“Oh, I’m certain he will run into us before night’s end. Shall we find somewhere more private to continue this conversation? A grand ballroom is hardly the venue for trade negotiations.”

The two follow her through the crowd down one of the long hallways, working their way around the affluent and oblivious party-goers who would rather yell at someone for running in to them than deign to move out of the way. There’s an all-black Hutt with a white face lounging in alcove to Poe’s left, and he stops for a fraction of a second to watch as a line of servers queues to empty tray after tray of various fruits and breads and meats and live creepy-crawlies down its slobbering, grotesque maw. It’s fascinating, this display of unashamed gluttony, but he hopes no one leans too far forward as they’re feeding the Hutt, lest they get swallowed up.

They finally reach a quieter area of the building, another long hallway filled with rooms for more _intimate_ entertainment. Their contact goes to the third door and unlocks it, holding it open for them. Poe peeks his head in and looks around. The room is small and dimly lit, with a table in the middle and four chairs surrounding it. There are no windows and no other doors. He steps back with an apologetic expression on his face.

“Sorry, protocol. In the rebellion business we try to avoid rooms with only one exit. Is there anywhere else we could go?”

Her eyes darken slightly but she puts on a smile, clearly annoyed at the request but trying to hide it. “Sure.”

He picks up on the change, and when she goes to close the door he clicks on the small one-way communicator in his front pants pocket. If anything were to go sideways, there’s not much anyone would be able to do about it, but… but he’d want Finn to know what happened to him.

There’s a better room just down the hall, because Canto Bight wouldn’t be Canto Bight if it didn’t offer anything and everything. Their contact lets Poe pull out her chair for her, in a seat nearest the far door. She reaches up one side of her dress, unsnapping a small datachip from a pack strapped around her upper thigh while Jess tries very hard not to stare. She sets the datachip on the table and pushes it forward across to where Poe and Jess are seated.

“As you mentioned earlier, myself and my husband and the people we represent are willing to offer funds towards the purchase of fuel and food and medical supplies for the Resistance. We cannot provide ships or any weaponry. Our stance is officially neutral. Everything else can be classified as ‘charity’. You understand, of course.”

Poe nods and picks up the datachip, as well as the subtle dig. “And this?”

“The deal, formalized, in language that exempts us for appearing to align with what is officially known as a ‘terrorist’ group, in addition to coordinates for where you can acquire what we’ve provided you.”

He and Pava exchange a look as she takes the datachip from him and locks it in her sparkly red clutch.

“This is extremely generous, Ms. Marijke, though we haven’t discussed what we’re providing in exchange for such valuable resources.”

“Protection,” she replies, nearly cutting him off. “I saw what the First Order did to the Hosnian System. Now, it’s clear you lack the resources to truly protect us, but we would like to be part of the conversation when it comes to actions and movements against the First Order; your small group of fighters seems to be the only thing that stands in their way. If we’re ever targeted, I just want enough notice to give my citizens sufficient time to evacuate. We’re not indigenous to the planet. We can rebuild, as a people.”

“Well, not to look a gift fathier in the mouth, but, the weapon that blew up the Hosnian System is gone now. We blew it up. Or, more specifically,” she continues, pointing to Poe, “he blew it up.”

Their contact’s mouth tightens again, her smile not even close to reaching her eyes. “Is that so? All by yourself, Commander?”

He fidgets in his seat, proud but trying not to show it. “Hey, I can’t take all the glory here. I may have been the one to go in and blow the thermal oscillator, but we had a lot of help. Each person played their part. It was a victory for everyone.”

“My, my,” she says, leaning forward and locking her fingers together in front of her. “They should throw you a parade.”

Jess hits him in the arm with a congratulatory punch, and he silently resolves to train her on how to read a room when they get back.

“Though,” he continues, back to business, “this in no way downplays the threat the First Order continues to pose to the safety of the galaxy. We know they’re regrouping and have plans for another attack in the works. Speaking on General Organa’s behalf, in exchange for your generous offer we would be more than happy to grant you a seat at the table, as well as consideration and intel as it affects your planet.”

“That’s all we ask, Commander. Have we come to an agreement?”

Poe and Jess exchange another glance before Poe turns back to their contact and reaches out his hand. This time she accepts it, her grip stronger than he had anticipated, and the two shake on it. She lingers for a moment too long, refusing to let go until he does, and it feels off.

“How wonderful. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to call my husband to join us; he has the formal contract for both parties to sign, and you can work through the minutiae with him.” At a nod from Poe, she reaches into her bag for her communicator. “Oh, such fortune! It appears he’s already done and on his way here now.”

Before Poe has time to whisper his concerns to Jess about the incredibly _convenient_ timing of it all, someone knocks three times at the door behind their contact. She rises, teeth bared in a sickly smile as she pulls the door open to reveal General Hux, dressed in a sharp black suit and flanked on both sides by blaster-wielding Stormtroopers.

“Jess, _go_!” Poe shouts, moving to stand before he feels a pair of hands slam him back down into his seat. He struggles against the vice-like grip on his shoulders but turns to check on Jess, whose arms are already locked behind her, her eyes wild in surprise and anger and panic all at once. The sight spurs him into action, twisting his right arm down and out of the Stormtrooper’s hold, ripping his suit sleeve at the seam. He launches himself back and catches the ‘trooper in the neck with his elbow, sending them crashing to the floor in a plastisteel clatter. He rushes forward, throwing himself onto Jess’s attacker and slamming the ‘trooper against the wall, realizing too late that their armor plating makes it nearly impossible to subdue them hand-to-hand.

It doesn’t matter, the odds were never on his side. The Stormtrooper on the floor has recovered and fires their blaster at him, and Poe hopes it’s a stun bolt that’s hit him between the shoulder blades, lighting every nerve on fire and immobilizing him immediately.

He lets out a whimpering “ _kriff_ ” when his arms are wrenched behind his back and locked into a pair of stun cuffs that don’t match his outfit at all. The carpet he’s laid out on is surprisingly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t get the chance to complain before a Stormtrooper pulls him back by his hair and slams his face into the floor.

Poe sees stars – the bad kind – and then he’s out.    


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes slowly, almost before he realizes it. There’s a pain in his back and shoulders, a deep, burning ache that almost leaves him gasping. His mouth tastes like he’s been chewing on the side of a T-70 and he instantly recognizes that, yep, that’s blood, thanks to a lifetime of un-dodged fists. He tries to spit out what he can as he rejoins the world of the aware and alert, though it just splatters out in front of him on the table where they’ve let his head drop.

To his right, Jess is unloading a string of obscenities that would make a Gamorrean blush; part of him wants her to _shut up, Jess, don’t make this worse_ , but the other part of him wants to stand in her corner while she verbally eviscerates these overdressed thugs.

“Geez, Pava,” he sputters, interrupting her in the middle of telling General Hux _exactly where_ he can shove a Star Destroyer, and what he’d have to do with his other hand to get it in there. “You could melt the womp off a womprat that mouth.”

She turns her head and her eyes light up at the sight of him, a bit bloody around the edges but still here, dammit. There’s a line of blood dribbling down a small cut in her lip, and Poe clenches his fists, angry enough to burn down the world.

“So glad to have you back, Commander,” comes that smooth voice from earlier. She’s hovering in the corner delicately smoking a deathstick. General Hux is seated at the table across from them, his icy stare making Poe more uncomfortable than the cuffs cutting up his wrists.

“Yeah. Real great to be back. What a treat.” He lifts his head the rest of the way to face her. “So, who are you really?” he coughs out, trying to clear his throat. “Some spicy lothcat the First Order keeps on hand for these incredibly specific undercover-type missions?”

General Hux stands out of his seat and backhands Poe, hard, nearly knocking him sideways off of his chair. “I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Dameron. You’re in rather deep already, and I can’t guarantee you’ll leave this room with all of your parts attached if you choose to keep talking about my wife in such a disgraceful manner.”

“What?!” Pava shouts before Poe has the chance. “Your doshing _wife_? _That part_ was true?”

In the corner the woman laughs to herself and takes another drag. General Hux remains silent, intently focused on whatever Poe plans to say next, knowing the pilot can’t help but test the waters.

“ _Gross_ ,” Poe replies, sitting up straighter and spitting a gooey red blob of blood onto the table between them.  

Hux’s expression doesn’t change as he walks to Jess’s side of the table, looks Poe straight in the eyes, and backhands her. With her arms locked behind her back she crumples to the ground with a soft cry. Poe shouts and tries again to lunge out of his seat at Hux before the same pair of Stormtrooper hands from earlier grab his shoulders and hold him solidly in place.

“ _I’ll kill you_ ,” Poe growls through gritted teeth. “Do you understand me? I’ll kriffing _kill you_.”

The woman laughs once more and walks forward, putting her deathstick out on the arm of Poe’s suit. He hisses as it burns through the fabric and down into his skin almost immediately, and he tries to pull away, again, uselessly. “Now, gentlemen, no fighting, please.” She drops the deathstick to the floor and joins Hux by his side, exchanging a loving look with him before turning her attention back to Poe and Jess. Poe considers saying something – _many_ somethings – but he looks over at Jess being roughly helped back into her chair, and he keeps his mouth closed.

“He follows direction if his subordinate is imperiled. Do remember that for the interrogation later,” the woman says to Hux, and Poe wants to vomit.

“Hey, Poe.” Jess is righted in her chair but Poe can feel the rage dripping off of her, fangs out, agitated. “You have my permission to call these sloppy skugs anything you’d like.”

Of course Poe won’t continue to mouth off, he can’t. They’ll likely be taken straight to the interrogation cells on whatever ship the First Order has shown up in, and they’ll need to save these hits for when they’ll really need them. Still, he shoots her a bloodied smirk.

“If you’re just going to interrogate us anyway, what the pfassk was the point of all this?” He coughs again. “Just wanted to waste everyone’s time first?”

General Hux smirks and Poe tries to imagine what all of his teeth would look like laid out on the floor between them.

“The Resistance doesn’t train them very well, do they?” the woman asks.

“No, they certainly do not,” General Hux answers before turning his attention back to Poe. “Do you not understand how much you’ve revealed already? About your nearly-singular role in the destruction of Starkiller? About how the Resistance are desperate for supplies? So desperate even that they’re willing to dress their most beloved pilots up in ridiculous outfits and send them off to pretend to be important. Which reminds me, Dameron; did you stumble across that ill-fitting suit in a trash heap somewhere, or did you make it yourself?”

The comment doesn’t hurt his feelings, not even remotely. The fact that the First Order has stooped to sending one of their top generals down on an undercover mission to deliver shallow jabs at his outfit means they’re either as desperate as the Resistance is, this is personal for them, or both. Good. He’s happy to have left such an impact. It doesn’t unlock their binders or un-bloody Jess’s lip, but it does help to know that their fields may be more equal than General Hux is willing to let on. Poe lets this glimmer of hope rise in his chest, holding onto it with everything he has left.

“E chu ta. Poe, don’t listen to this weird orange idiot.” To his right, Jess is trying very hard to be comforting, and he shoots her a crooked smile.

“Charming. As much as I enjoy our banter, let’s save it for when you tell us everything you know about the Resistance. I’m afraid it’s time to say goodbye to the lovely Canto Casino. I’m very much looking forward to repaying you for your role in Starkiller, Dameron. Guards, take them.” Hux motions to the Stormtroopers standing behind them, and Poe grunts as he’s wrenched up and out of his seat. Jess is pulled up behind him and he struggles with his cuffs as they’re marched out the door and down an empty hallway.

They round a corner where two other Stormtroopers are waiting on either side of a large open cargo bay door. Poe can see the First Order shuttle just beyond the door, and he pushes down the familiar anxieties rising in his chest from the last time he had been captured. He considers all his options and the risks still worth taking; if he could maybe twist out of the Stormtrooper’s grip and then somehow incapacitate the one holding Jess, or if he could just work one of his hands out of the cuffs he could grab one of their blasters and take down as many as he can aim at before they stun him again, as long as she can make a break for it, get herself to safety while they focus on him…

He’s snapped out of his focus by a sudden and thunderous explosion rocking against the building behind him, shaking the floors and rattling the lighting bays lining the hallway, which blink off and then back on a moment later, bathing the room in a strobing red glow. A fierce siren sings from behind the walls, sharp and piercing.

It’s an alarm. They’re under attack.

Poe glances over at General Hux and the woman, who look just as confused as he does.

“Get them to the shuttle!” the woman barks at the Stormtroopers holding them. Her voice is still clear above the droning of the alarm, but Poe can hear the edge of panic in it.

“Stop! Don’t move!” comes a new voice behind them. Poe recognizes it instantly and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest as he spins himself to meet it.

 _Finn_.

There’s something in his hands, small and round _. Not a blaster_ , thinks Poe, who hopes Finn knows what he’s doing. The Stormtrooper behind Poe grabs him and holds him in front of their body like a shield. Jess’s Stromtrooper does the same, while the other two flanking Hux and the woman raise their blasters and prepare to fire.

“Drop your weapons! And release them!” Finn shouts down the hallway. Confidently. _Heroically_.

The woman steps forward just as confidently. “And why should we do that, FN-2187?”

Finn clicks something on the ball and it lights up. He raises it towards them. “Because I have a thermal detonator.”

“You’re bluffing,” she replies, taking a step back.

Poe nearly shouts out loud when he realizes what Finn is doing, proud and impressed and enamored all at once. “ _The Boushh Gambit_ ,” he whispers to himself through a wide, delighted smile.

Finn walks down the hall to meet them, thermal detonator gripped tightly in his fist. “No bluff. If you think I won’t blow this entire building to keep these two and their Resistance secrets out of First Order hands, you’re more naïve than I thought, _Phasma._ ”

Jess gasps at the name. Poe keeps smiling as he squirms in the Stormtrooper’s grip.

“You’d let everyone in this building die? Including yourself? I think not,” Phasma sneers.

“Blue Squadron is evacuating the building as we speak. Or didn’t you hear the alarm?” Finn continues stalking towards them until he’s within nearly arm’s length of where Jess and Poe are being held. “I knew what I was getting into with the Resistance when I signed up. Their cause is actually worth dying for. Is yours? Is this how you want to go out?” He clicks on another button and the ball makes a soft vibrating sound. All around them, the siren continues to blare loudly.

After a moment that seems to stretch on for a lifetime, General Hux takes a step back and breaks the tense silence. “ _Fine_. Release them.”

Jess is uncuffed first and she walks over to help Poe, holding gently to his arm and bringing him to stand next to Finn.

“You guys okay?” Finn whispers, and when Poe and Jess answer in the affirmative he turns back to the Stormtroopers. “Who’s coming with us?”

The Stormtroopers seem caught off guard and exchange an awkward glance. It’s a moment before one steps forward and removes their helmet. “I’m in. I’ll join you.” He looks to be around Finn’s age – too young for this bantha shit – but there’s an excitement in his eyes. The Stormtrooper looks back to another Stormtrooper near Phasma, and he reaches his hand out towards them. “Penn, come with me.” They do, without even a second of hesitation, discarding their own helmet and taking the man’s hand as they go to stand behind the Finn.

“Welcome to the Resistance,” Jess offers, patting them each on the back.

“The rest of you, drop your blasters. Even the sidearm near the boot. Kick them over here and don’t try anything.” The remaining ‘troopers follow their instructions while Phasma disdainfully lights up another deathstick.

“This will not end well for you, FN-2187. Sooner or later we will hunt down you and your friends and then we’ll see how deep your conviction runs.”

Finn ignores her. Poe collects the discarded blasters, handing one to Jess to cover their exit while they walk backwards and out of the First Order’s sight.

Once they’re a safe distance from the people who want them dead, they sprint after Finn who leads them back to the entrance where Snap is helping the remaining patrons out of the building.

Poe barely has a second to catch his breath before they’re back in the air, finally taking a seat in the main cabin once they’ve verified no one is tailing them. Jess grabs a medical rag for her face and hits the shower, not wanting to spend even one second longer in the confining dress, leaving it crumpled up and discarded on the floor behind her.

Poe offers a hand and a drink to the defectors and learns their names, Penn and Bench. They look nervous, and he doesn’t blame them. He decides to give the two space and time to adjust before asking anything more about them. .

And besides, right now he needs to find Finn.

Poe fixes himself up with a few bacta patches and a couple vitamins, no big deal, he’s been through worse, and heads to the lower deck where Finn said he’d be waiting. Finn practically leaps off the crate he’s sitting on when he sees Poe, rushing to him and crowding right up into his space. Poe reaches for a hug first and Finn joins him, a grateful embrace the two always seem to need after time apart.

“Finn, thank you for coming after us,” Poe sighs into his neck before pulling away. “But how’d you get down to us so fast? I thought for sure by the time we figured out what was going on that there’d be no time to do anything about it.”

“Oh, Phasma. I recognized her voice the instant you turned on your communicator and I knew you and Jess were in trouble. Figuring out what to do next was actually the hardest part.”

Poe smiles at him. “Where’d you even learn The Boushh Gambit? Did General Organa tell you about? Was it Threepio?”

Finn looks confused. “The… _Boushh Gambit?_ No idea what that is.”

Poe lights up. “General Organa pulled the same thing a long time ago, trying to save Luke Skywalker and Han Solo from a Hutt. Are you telling me… that you came up with that all on your own?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s all I could think of at the time. I panicked and just needed to get you out of there.”

Poe wants to say something more impactful, more poignant, something about heroism and character, but he comes up empty, choosing instead to shoot Finn the smile that always seems to make him blush. “Stars. You’re incredible, Finn. No wonder Phasma’s mad you left; you’re a good man to have on your side.”

The two embrace again and Poe thinks that maybe this whole disaster of an operation was worth it.

“Hey, Poe,” Finn asks, hesitantly, “Were General Hux and Captain Phasma… were they giving off weird vibes to you? They seemed… closer than I remember.”

“Those two? Yeah, apparently they’re married now.”

“ _Gross._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone still unclear, Boushh was the name of the person Princess Leia impersonated to threaten Jabba the Hutt. 
> 
> <3


End file.
